My sister's kid was smart, but he really didn't want college right away, and his family lacked tuition money. The Army gave him a good deal that would pay for his college later, so he enlisted.
He went to Iraq.
I'd always been a favorite uncle. I babysat for him a few times, years ago. I was slyly subversive and fun loving, especially compared to his sometimes-zealous, evangelical christian parents.
Below the orange maze, I'll describe what he had experienced, despite an apparently combat-free tour of duty.
After he served his time, we met later in southern California for dinner. He didn't want to talk much about the army and Iraq. At that time, he was waiting tables at a tony bistro and making decent tip money.
But the army had taught him electrician skills. I offered to help him get into the union, and then he would make $50/hour. He didn't respond.
As we ate dinner, I joked about pretty California women, of whom there were probably 20 sitting nearby in the restaurant. He pursed his lips and said he really didn't like any California women, and wanted to return to the Midwest to find a sweetheart.
I was taken aback, thinking to myself that among the millions of college-educated women of all ages and philosophies living in Southern California, surely there were a few candidates here for his soul mate. I didn't say anything, but his response seemed half a beat out of tune.
We parted later and he promised to stay in touch.
Iraq had been an odd war, in that you could easily exchange e-mails and phone calls with soldiers in the middle of active war zones. So his family had been in touch constantly. He'd always said he spent the entire war on a large military base, maintaining equipment, and never saw combat.
Later, after returning to the US, he friended my elderly mother on Facebook, and began making unusually philosophical inquiries to her about the very nature of being and life. She responded as best she could. But he hadn't chosen his Facebook posting filters very well. that meant his posts to his friends about drinking, drug abuse, and sexual activity were posted to my mother also. She un-friended him.
He moved from Southern California to the East Coast without finishing school, after someone overdosed at one of his college fraternity parties.
He began responding bitterly to his mother's inquiries. Part of the problem was she was very conservative politically. However, He'd lost lots of money in the stock market crash, and he felt like capitalism had ripped him off. Her full-throated defenses of the free market made him boil over with anger.
Then one day his mom called me, frantic. He'd disappeared. We traced him to northern California. After a few days he showed up at the VA hospital there. He'd had some sort of anxiety attack, flung away his cell phone, billfold and ID, and wandered the streets for awhile.
So we suspected his psyche was unraveling. But he was of legal age. You couldn't rein him in, but you had to brace for the next awful infliction, that you knew was on its its way.
I surmised that the months of pressure from being in a war zone had worsened his mental status, even if he wasn't in combat. But you just don't know what effect, if any, his military service played in his mental struggles.
He drifted around, living in shelters, working odd jobs, never exploiting his electrical skills. Finally he moved back in with his parents and took a regular job working construction. We all hoped he had stabilized, and at least he was with his family.
Then came the morning when his mother couldn't wake him up. I'll call it a catatonic attack. His vital signs were fine, but he couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't open his eyes.
The doctors took him to the VA hospital, and a few days later he came out of it. The doctors said massive levels of anxiety had literally frozen him, and anti-anxiety drugs had relieved enough of his fear that he could finally wake up. He said he could hear our voices but could not respond.
After a few sessions, his therapist found out more about his Iraq service. There had been a huge explosion. He had suffered head wounds and brain damage. But he hadn't told his own family about the brain injury for some reason, and never applied for disability.
I feel odd at my relief to discover a potential physical explanation for his suffering. At least there is something more specific for the doctors to treat, rather than the harder-to-understand problem of severe anxiety.
And I think how fortunate it is then when I got the news today, he hadn't died.